


and all the wonders become a simple fact

by whataboutateakettle



Series: Five Stages of Truth (or Dare) [5]
Category: Scorpion (TV 2014)
Genre: F/M, I mean it's been like 6 weeks since I started this, also, lots of cuteness to make up for part 4, the end of an era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-30
Updated: 2015-04-30
Packaged: 2018-03-26 00:45:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3830869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whataboutateakettle/pseuds/whataboutateakettle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>“You’ve never brought anyone else up here, have you?” </i> He asks. She doesn’t say anything. He already knows too much about her. But on the other hand, she wants to show him more. To show him things she can’t put into words yet. // Acceptance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	and all the wonders become a simple fact

**Author's Note:**

> Guys, this is it!!! What started as an explicit one-shot snowballed in a five-part series of FEELS and now I'm d o n e. Enjoy!

There’s been a heavy weight of awkwardness hanging through the garage for three days now. That’s how many days it’s been since she ran out of his apartment. Since she hasn’t seen him outside of work. Since he hasn’t quipped a single joke in her direction.

For someone who never leaves her alone, he’s doing a great job of not talking to her.

She asked for space that night, she did. The next morning, for a second before she remembered what had happened, she rolled over in bed and her heart dropped at the empty space beside her.

They can work together fine, just make less eye contact than usual. She finds herself missing his gaze, his warm brown eyes, they way they smile at her even when his mouth is serious.

She’s definitely missing his touch. Not she would ever tell him. But she’s gotten used to his mouth on hers and his hands in her hair and his breath against her skin. The way his fingers would wrap around her wrist, gentle but firm, never trapping her, but grounding her.

She’s working on her bike, when she hears footsteps coming towards him. Men’s footsteps, with a hard sole. She knows it’s Walter before she looks up but feels a little deflated when she’s proven right.

“Happy, can I talk to you?”

She raises an eyebrow at him, before pulling her toolbox off a nearby stool and nudging it towards him.

“Look, I’m very aware it’s none of my business.”

“Right,” she nods, focusing on her bike. She’s gripping her tools a little tighter than she should be.

He sighs; she imagines he doesn’t want to be here, talking to her about this. “When you and Toby can’t even look at each other, it affects the team. It makes us less efficient and it could even be dangerous.”

“Did Doc ask you to talk to me?” She asks, suddenly looking up at him.

Walter shakes his head. “He didn’t. Paige did.”

She lets out a breath, not even aware she’d been holding it. If she’s being honest she wishes he had asked. The Toby she knows doesn’t give up, he’s incessant and determined and confident and she knows how to deal with that. The Toby that sits at his desk and doesn’t look at her, that’s unfamiliar and cold.

Walter waits a moment more before he speaks. “Happy, you and I are both very self-sufficient people. I've always thought that an asset, a strength, but  working with this team, all of you, I’ve come to understand that that even though you can go through something on your own, doesn’t always mean you should. If you and Toby-”

“You don’t believe in love,” she cuts him off, frustrated, and then freezes.  She catches his gaze, both recognising she’s just brought a whole new level to this conversation.

“ _No_ ,” he says, obviously unprepared for this particular direction. Apparently Paige had kept her promise to not share the details with him. “But I do understand the chemical and psychological aspects of meaningful attachments. Bonds like that are what keep a team like us together. Denying yourself that is not in your best interests.”

“What if it messes up the team?” Her eyes glance behind Walter head to Toby at his desk. He’s got his headphones on, focused on something he’s typing. _What if it already has?_

“That’s a risk,” Walter agrees. “But there’s also a significant possibility that it can make us stronger. I don’t- I’m ill-equipped to discuss  romantic notions, I still don’t fully recognise how they benefit one’s mental capacity. Paige is really the better person to talk to about this, but ... I will say, You and Toby are both important to me, and I would like you both to be happy.”

Four mornings ago, Toby woke her up with kisses along her arm and shoulder until he reached her neck. She can still remember his warm breath against her skin, the way he ran his fingers through her hair as he moved it out of the way. When she turned towards him, he pressed gentle kisses against her jaw and when he reached her lips she was smiling so wide she could barely kiss him back.

She blinks a couple times, tries to send the memory away. When she looks back at Walter, he seems to understand that there’s nothing more to be said. He nods, places a hand on her shoulder as he stands.

She turns back to her bike, grips the metal in her hand tighter again.

* * *

Cabe orders them to go out and check something for the case, and they can’t really say no since they’re both insisting that they’re _fine_. Now they're driving acorss the city in LA traffic and Toby hasn't said anything that not related to their work. The words, all relevant and accurate, sound wrong, cold, coming from him. They’re not wrapped in humor, or sarcasm or innuendo, and the harshness almost leaves a ringing in her ears. This is all wrong. 

Finally, at a red light, she can’t take it anymore. “Walter talked to me this morning. About us.”

“Paige is really rubbing off on him, huh?” he replies, voice noncommittal. He doesn’t even look at her.

She frowns, reaches out and grabs his arm so she can turn him towards her. “You haven’t talked to me in three day, Curtis.”

She hasn’t used his last names like that in years, not since they were merely colleagues. She expects him to bite back, but instead he just looks at her solemnly, “You asked for space.”

“You’ve never _given_ me space before,” she points out, eyes narrow. 

He sighs, but doesn’t break her gaze. “Never thought I’d really screwed up before, either.” He looks apologetic, dejected, and she realises. He’s not punishing her, he’s punishing _himself_.

She sees the light change, drops her hand off him to continue driving. She bites her lip, doesn’t say anything, doesn’t know _what_ to say.

* * *

They’re playing a game of who can leave last. She’s been watching him from her desk for much of the afternoon, since they got back to the garage. Every so often he looks up at her, and it’s small, it’s subtle but the tension had dissipated enough for the rest of the team to be noticeably relieved.

She’s not going to let him win this one though, not by himself at least. She packs up her things, swings her bag over her shoulder, takes a deep breath. She thinks of confidence, determination, _happiness_ , and all her thoughts end up in the same place. They need stop punishing themselves, each other. 

She walks over, stands resolutely in front of his desk. “Get your things; I want to show you something.”

He looks up with confusion, but she just stares at him, nods towards the door and he does as he’s told. In his own way, he always has.

He follows her out of the garage, gets into her truck without a word. It’s not until he’s changed the radio station a handful of times that he finally turns to her.

“ _Where_ are we going?”

She smirks a little, knows this is probably killing him. “You’ll see,” she answers simply, smacks his hand away when he tries to change the station again.

To his credit he doesn’t ask again until she’s parked the truck and he’s following her down a dirt part, stepping quickly behind her. He probably has a vague idea of where they are, but there’s a reason people don’t come here. There’s not much light, mostly moonlight, but it’s enough. She gets to the tall security door, which seems daunting but the circuitry in the power box to the side is at least two decades too old. She’s been breaking into this thing since she was 11 and they’ve never made it any harder for her.

“Happy, I think this is-” He whispers, eyeing the many keep out signs that line the fence.

“Shh,” she hisses, turns back to the power box to twist the last wire until the gate unlatches. “Come on.”

He follows her until she stops standing between the two Ls. “You brought me to the Hollywood sign?”

She sits down, hugs her knees and he drops down next to her. This spot has the best view, the ground giving her enough leverage to get almost a full panorama of the city.

“When I was being bounced through foster homes, I’d sneak out at night and come here. I used to look at all the lights out there, try and guess which one was my dad. I know, it's stupid.”

The words feel fresh, cold on her tongue. He’s staring at her, she can feel it, but she’s determined to keep her gaze on the skyline.

“You’ve never brought anyone else up here, have you?” He asks.

She doesn’t say anything. He already knows too much about her. But on the other hand, she wants to show him more. To show him things she can’t put into words yet.

He moves, shifts himself behind her, a knee on either side of hers. He wraps his arms around her waist and drops his chin to her shoulder.

“What are you doing?” she asks, can’t help the giggle coming through because this whole thing is ridiculous.

He pauses for a second, and when he answers his voice is lower, so close to her that she can feel the rumble go through her. “Human touch can help strengthen the empathetic bond, this way I can see more of the world through your eyes. But, honestly, I just like being close to you.”

His sincerity gives her chills, but she relaxes into him. He dips his head, nestles his face into her neck and her breath hitches at the intimacy. Her chest feels lighter than it has in days.

He lifts his head, “What you were doing, when you came up here, is a distancing technique. When you put yourself far away from the problems you’re facing. So down there you’re dealing with your dad leaving, or a crappy foster home, but up here those things can’t touch you. And any one of those lights can be the possibility of your dad returning, or finding the right home.  When everything is so small and shiny, the bad stuff doesn’t look so scary.”

She bites her lips, remembering for a moment coming up here when she was younger. He’s right, she felt safe up here, because none of that stuff could touch her. “Sounds about right,” she mutters.

He chuckles, moves a hand from her waist to her knee and runs it up and down slowly, gently. “It also works the other way, you know. Like any of those lights could be something amazing, and that potential can’t be disproved from up here, but it also can’t be discovered fully.”

She smirks, following his meaning. He’s reaching again, and she’s never been so happy to encourage him. “You’re saying I have to go back down?”

“I’m saying if you do, there could be something good waiting for you.”

“And that’s you?” She almost whispers it. She needs to hear it, needs him and his confidence in her, in them to guide her through this.

He scoffs, shakes his head, so she can feel it. “I’m a screw up, Happy. I’m struggling to figure out what I’m doing ten times more than you are.” He pauses and she’s almost deflating.

“No, something good? That’s _Us._ ”

She turns her head suddenly, twists herself because she needs to look at him. There are shadows across his face, but she can tell his gaze is warm, can see his mouth quirked in a hopeful smile. She can feel her own pulse quickening with an affirmation that she’s been afraid of for far too long. She can’t say it yet; she knows that much. She can feel the words stuck in her throat. So she kisses him instead. Let’s herself drown in way his lips taste and in the knowledge of how she feels. He’s kissing her back with equal fervour, lifts a hand to her neck to hold her closer. She twists herself further, needing more.

They pull apart, eventually, both breathing heavily and she rests her forehead on his cheek. He’s running a hand up and down her arm. They stay like that for a few minutes, until she can hear heavy footsteps and rustling leaves.

“Not good,” she pulls herself away from him, lowers her voice. “Security’s coming.”

“Why do they have security, it’s a _sign_ ,” he asks, pushes himself up after her.

“And we just broke in,” she reminds him. And grabs his hand, pulls him towards some bushes so they can sneak back to the truck.

He stops her before she can open the driver’s door. Instead, he crowds her against it, kisses her gently.

“Something good?” she asks quietly, almost mumbling it against his lips.

“You tell me,” He replies, and she opens her eyes. There’s enough light to see his eyes, his hopeful expression and for the first time she recognises it. It’s every look he’s given her that she couldn’t place, that made her stomach flip, that made her want to hide.

Now, she smiles at him, nods. “Good.”

* * *

She wakes up before she opens her eyes, lets the night before flash in her mind and she can’t stop herself from smiling.

They’d grabbed some food on the way home, and when she parks outside her own apartment, he jumps out of the truck, runs around and opens her door for her. She'd punched him in the arm, rolled her eyes then they’d kissed on her stairs, and in front of her door, like they were making up for lost time. And when they _finally_ got inside -

She opens her eyes then, wanting to keep the memory safe. Trying to shift, she realises she’s completely cocooned in her sheets; she rolls over, reaches out to – an empty bed. 

She battles the cotton, sits up immediatelyand looks around bleary-eyed. A wave of relief washes over her when she sees his jeans and shoes on the floor.   _He’s still here._ She climbs out of bed, finds some underwear and an old T-shirt and heads out of her bedroom.

He’s in her kitchen, just in his boxers, opening the cupboard where she keeps her plates. She gazes over the back of him for a second, can see the scratches she left, pink against his pale skin,  before speaking up.

“Are you cooking me breakfast?” she asks disbelievingly.

He turns around; stops to look at her for a moment, she can see his eyes darken. “No, I’m making toast and coffee. But it was supposed to be toast and coffee in bed so...” he waves her back to her bedroom but she just raises an eyebrow at him, stands firm on the kitchen tiles for another second before she pulls the milk out of the fridge because she knows he takes it in his coffee. 

He takes the milk out of her hands, replaces it with a plate of toast, already buttered. “You know they’re going to notice.”

“Hmm?” She asks, mid-bite.

“Paige will, at least,” he says, pouring milk into his coffee before taking a sip. “They’ll notice we’re making _eye contact_ again.” He raises his eyebrows pointedly.

She raises one back at him, a smirk on her lips. “So don’t look at me then.”

“Yeah, that’s not going to happen,” he shakes his head, leans down to press his lip against hers it's quick soft, all morning breath and coffee. When he pulls away, he takes the piece of toast from her hand and takes a bite.

“Watch yourself, Doc,” she warns, a smiles playing on her lip. She grabs the toast back.

They finish breakfast, barely talking but catching each other’s gaze. He’s taking another sip of his coffee when she pulls on his waistband of his boxers.

“Come on.”

He looks at her questioningly and she lets the waistband snap back. “Shower.”  
  
He grins, “Oh, I _like_ this idea.” Reaches down and takes her hand in his as she pulls him towards her bathroom.

He means more. He knows it, she knows it, but it works. He’ll give her this time, this space, this chance to get there herself. And he’s going to hold her hand along the way.

They stop in front of her shower, and he pulls at her T-shirt until she lifts her arms and he can pull it off.  “Yeah,” she breathes, presses her lips against his chest, too close to where his heart lies for it to be an accident. “Me too.”

So maybe they’re both screwed up in their own way; she’s too angry and he’s an asshole. But she can’t help but think of screws when they’re tightened the right way. They hold strong, steadfast, hold things together, they can make something _work_. In this case, something good.  


End file.
